


What Happened After the Pulsifer-Device Wedding

by ZephyrOfAllTrades



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Time, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Smut, because you knew it was coming, but keeps he/him pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25181125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrOfAllTrades/pseuds/ZephyrOfAllTrades
Summary: “Is that what I think it is?” the angel hummed. “You did get it then,” he kept his face blank, looking from the demon then to the offending garter.He swallowed the lump in his throat and did his best to sound unaffected as he answered, “Forgot I put it in there. A lot of things happened, you know,” he finished lamely.“Well…” the blonde started, mischief in his eyes. “Since it’s tradition, I do believe you should put it on me, my dear.” Aziraphale jumped up, plucking Crowley’s wine glass from his numb fingers and placing it on the low table beside the bottle. “I may have forgotten the bouquet, but I do remember catching it.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85





	What Happened After the Pulsifer-Device Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> This is the companion fic to ['What Happened at the Pulsifer-Device Wedding'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25121527). You might need to read that first. (´∀｀)
> 
> For those who have, and were asking where the garter went..... here 'ya go! (*ﾟ∀ﾟ*)

Back in Soho, an angel and a demon were making their way out of the Bentley towards A.Z. Fell and Co. The early evening breeze caressing the angel’s locks. Memories of the afternoon slipping hazily in and out his consciousness, a soft smile taking residence on his face. His face turned to watch his friend beside him. The street lamps casting their cozy yellow light on the demon’s flaming red-hair, making it glow. He was part of his memories. A rather large and rose-tinted part. He brushed the memories away. Aziraphale permitted himself to drink in the sight one last time before opening the door, waved his Crowley through and locking it behind them.

“That was a marvelous wedding, don’t you think so, my dear? I do believe I’d use the whole morning tomorrow to relate the details to Madame Tracey. It was such a shame they couldn’t come. But, since they are on their own honeymoon, I’d say it was understandable.”

Crowley let the angel’s babble wash over him as they made their way to the back room. It had been an eventful day and the demon was in dire need of a good stretch on a very comfortable, albeit outdated-looking sofa, hopefully with a good glass of wine or a bottle or two. He had to sober up before driving back to London, and was now craving the buzz of alcohol to commemorate a good bout of mischief-making. He grinned, remembering the Wanker’s face as he snuck off, covered in chocolate, thorns and a good helping of shame after Newt’s empathic little speech.

“You look like you’ve enjoyed yourself immensely,” the blonde handed him a glass of wine, then sat primly beside him. It was uncharacteristic of him to deviate from his favorite armchair when they had their drinking sessions, but Crowley was not about to complain when he could soak in the warmth radiating off his companion.

“You know me and trouble…” he drawled, taking a generous sip of wine, willing his steadily growing blush to vanish. The angel had toed off his pumps, gave his legs a stretch and his toes a wiggle, then brought them up on the couch beneath the full skirt of his dress.

“It has been a while since I’ve worn heels. I’ve forgotten how tiring they become no matter how comfortable I make them.”

“Those were barely two inches, angel,” he teased, turning towards him and scooting back to the other end of the couch to give the angel more room to unwind.

He watched, engrossed, as Aziraphale twisted out of his cardigan and leaned back to claim the sofa’s other arm. The angel moaned in appreciation. “Oh, I do believe I should take this form on once in a while. I feel ever so much more flexible. And I do have other dresses I’ve yet to try on. Perhaps my male presentation reminds me too much of the restrictions I’ve placed upon myself for thousands of years that I find it hard to ‘let my hair down’ so to speak,” he giggled, taking a handful of his hair and tossing it over his shoulder.

Crowley was mesmerized. He knew the angel sobered up the same as he did, mutual understanding and solidarity yada, yada. But the way Aziraphale was acting was more than what he normally would after three in the morning on their drunkest evenings.

“Crowley, dear, you’re being awfully quiet,” the blonde said, brows coming together in concern, glass cradled in both hands.

The red-head couldn’t parse out a reply fast enough before the angel started talking again.

“Oh! You must be tired, I’m sorry for taking up so much space.” To Crowley’s amazement, he laid himself down. A large tartan pillow appeared behind his head and he wriggled to find a more comfortable position. He then patted the space beside him.

“Er…” the demon was stunned but forced a few words out. “Might squish you.”

“I am squishy so I won’t mind.”

Crowley almost mewled at the implications of that statement but still didn’t move.

“Alright, how about a compromise?” the angel sat up, smoothing down his petticoats. “If you answer my questions, I’ll let you have the space. Though it is technically mine, but I have been rather curious about a few things since this afternoon.” He went on before the demon could protest, “So… Were you part of that little stint the Them had done?”

If it were those kinds of questions, he was fine. Crowley nodded, a smirk coming unbidden from his mouth. “You can’t expect the Them to have all the fun.” The angel rolled his eyes, but it was more for effect than real judgement.

“And that chair, was that your demonic work?”

“Nah, kids found the wobbliest one. In fact, every little bit of that plan was thought up by the Them. My only contribution was Dog’s leash getting tangled on the Twat’s ankles.”

“Did you really hate him that much?” the angel tutted, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“Angel,” he whined. “Everybody hated him, even Newt had to step in. Newt!” he finished off his first glass, Aziraphale pouring him another. He was getting comfortable, despite the charge he felt sizzling between them.

“I guess I can’t fault you there,” the angel glanced at his glass on the low table and back to the bottle he still held. Deciding he was going to need a little more booze to keep the conversation going the way he wanted, he drank straight from the bottle’s lip.

“Getting greedy, angel,” Crowley teased but watched gratefully at the sudden expanse of pale throat he was treated to. He barely saw Aziraphale’s neck, usually hidden by his ridiculous bowtie. He stared, committing it to memory.

“Just thirsty, my dear,” the blonde said, licking a stray drop from the corner of his lips.

Crowley licked his in response feeling a little parched himself.

“Those poor roses!” the angel cried suddenly. “I rather liked them, you know,” he said with a pout.

“They’ll be fine in a week or two,” Crowley waved the worry away. He checked on the bush before they left and it was fine. More than fine, he found. He didn’t know if he had been projecting it, but the little buggers looked proud of themselves. He won’t abandon them, of course. He planted the bush as an excuse to pluck out a flower and hold it out to the angel for inspection every time they visited. If Aziraphale pinned the flower on his lapel after, he considered it a bonus. He couldn’t very well plant flowers in his flat. He had an image to maintain! “Besides, seeing as they’ve been particularly useful, I wouldn’t mind giving them temporary immunity from my ‘encouraging words,’ as you call it.”

Aziraphale should have huffed his way into an argument over the proper maintenance of a garden, as the usual course of their conversation, but again, he veered from his normal reaction. Unfortunately, it was into a more dangerous territory.

“That reminds me… do you know where the garter went?”

“The what?”

“The garter, Crowley. The one Newt sent off flying. I do believe it was white lace. Rather stretchy.”

“Why are you asking me?” he gulped.

“Well, my dear, last I saw, it was falling towards your direction. The whole incident did save me from the embarrassment of baring my thighs to humans. I’d have asked you to stop time and carry me away had Gilbert managed to grab ahold of the fabric,” the angel made a disgusted face.

Crowley didn’t see the reaction, distracted by the angel’s words. _‘Carry me away.’_ _Nope, not going there_ , Crowley hissed at himself. But an image of lifting the angel in a bridal carry and squirreling him away into his bed was not a bad thought. He felt his pants tighten. _Shit. Bad thought. Bad thought._ He shrugged off his jacket to drape over his lap, trying for nonchalance. He almost had it, until something fell out of the pocket – something he had shoved into his jacket while all eyes were still plastered on the injured best man.

He felt rather than saw Aziraphale’s eyes lock onto the piece of cloth. He knew how to pray, even if he was a demon. Did it a couple of times. He was praying now, praying for the roof to open up and a steady stream of holy water come to kill him.

“Is that what I think it is?” the angel hummed. “You did get it then,” he kept his face blank, looking from the demon then to the offending garter.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and did his best to sound unaffected as he answered, “Forgot I put it in there. A lot of things happened, you know,” he finished lamely.

“Well…” the blonde started, mischief in his eyes. “Since it’s tradition, I do believe you should put it on me, my dear.” Aziraphale jumped up, plucking Crowley’s wine glass from his numb fingers and placing it on the low table beside the bottle. “I may have forgotten the bouquet, but I do remember catching it.”

Months were but a second to an immortal, and yet the ones that stretched after Armageddon were the longest the angel had had to endure. They were spending more time together but Crowley was still keeping himself at a distance. He had wanted to touch. _Be_ touched. But didn’t know how to ask. There was the occasional contact. Friendly. Platonic. _Safe_. As they’ve done for millennia. But Aziraphale wanted more. Patience is a virtue, but the angel found his wearing thin.

He’d pushed him away for far too long, he supposed. And so, he decided that it was he who ought to make the first move. He wasn’t sure if it was his newfound conviction, the wine, the thrill of his new corporeal form, or the combination of all of those, that brought him standing in between the sprawled legs of a gaping demon.

He lifted his skirt slowly – afraid any sudden movements might startle the demon and have him dashing out the front door. He then placed a dainty foot at the sofa’s edge, a few inches from Crowley’s crotch where a very definite bulge was forming. He had wanted to fluster the demon a little bit, maybe make him loose his cool. That reaction was… unexpected. But not unwanted. He bit his lower lip, wondering what would happen if he nudged his foot closer.

Shaking his head to clear it a little, Aziraphale looked up, pouting as he met dark lenses instead of his cherished golden snake eyes. “Would you mind taking those off, dear?”

“Right, yeah, sure,” Crowley was reeling from the new position and could do nothing but follow orders. Without the filter he stared, wide-eyed, at the angel’s legs. They were paler in the light. The smooth curves of ankle, calf and knee had him salivating. If he was thirsty before, he was _hungry_ now.

“That’s better, now shall we, as they say ‘get on with it’?” the blonde twisted his foot to bring the red-head’s attention back to it. It slid an inch closer to the demon’s hard-on.

Crowley’s breath hitched. Satan, his pants weren’t even his usual skin tight leather, but it felt far worse than that. He couldn’t hide his erection from the angel. It was far too bloody obvious. But it looked like the blonde wasn’t disgusted. In fact, he looked expectant, biting his lips in an unintentionally sexy way. Besides, even if the angel was oblivious, the Hell he’d let a chance to get his hands on his angel slip away. He bent to scoop the garter up from the floor, taking his sweet time in inspecting it.

Aziraphale watched long, elegant fingers stretch the garter open, over and over. He had let his corporation slip into its female form and trusted that it knew well which parts it would manifest and where. Apparently, it gave him the corresponding Effort as well. Said Effort was clenching in response to Crowley’s ministrations with an Earth-forsaken piece of fabric. He felt the tell-tale wetness beneath the petticoats and heard himself whimper.

Crowley’s head snapped up at the sound. The angel’s cheeks were rapidly turning pink. Embarrassed, he lifted his foot to bring it back down to the floor. The demon’s hand shot to grab it, the other reaching for the flouncy skirts. He stood to make sure the angel didn’t fall backwards. He pulled a little too forcefully and it had the unfortunate (or perhaps very, very fortunate) consequence of plastering their bodies together. One hand somehow found itself tucked at the underside of Aziraphale’s knee, keeping the leg lifted high and pinned to his side. The other had reached around the angel’s waist and was holding him tightly.

“Ngk,” the angel squeaked out. He groaned internally. Thousands of books and millions of words later and all he could articulate was that. Clearly, Crowley was rubbing off on him.

Then he noticed that Crowley was rubbing _against_ him.

With the height difference greater than when he presented as a male, the position had Crowley’s cock pressing into his stomach. Even through the fabrics, he could feel how hard he was. And he could sense the demon’s control slipping, his grinding becoming more incessant. The wetness in his nether regions doubled in response.

“My dear,” the blonde said breathily, getting weak-kneed from the sensation. “I propose you let go of my leg before we both keel over.”

Loathed was Crowley to do so, he lowered the angel’s leg. He couldn’t, however, stop his hand sliding up to his thigh and giving it a squeeze before finally letting go. Aziraphale took a step back and he forced the arm on his waist to loosen. The angel wasn’t ready. Right. He could wait. He didn’t look repulsed from his humping. There was hope. He took a deep breath and began a mantra of sorts to calm himself down. _I can behave. I can go slow. I can be a gentleman. I can behave. I can go slow. I can be a…_

The angel had lowered himself on the sofa, lying down again but this time hitching his skirt and petticoats higher than before. They brushed his knees, perfect with their own little dimples. Passing his thighs, thick and creamy white. Then he saw black.

He didn’t pass out, but it was a miracle he was still upright.

The black was lace. The edges of scarlet underwear.

See-through scarlet underwear.

See-through scarlet thongs.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Crowley groaned. He was on the very edge of exploding. He didn’t even dare touch himself. The tease! He made to glare at the angel but was met with a very smug grin. This time he saw white, knees buckling from the intensity of his orgasm. He wobbled as he sat himself on the edge of the sofa, bright spots accosting his vision here and there.

He felt warm hands rubbing his shoulders comfortingly. He turned to finally glare at his angel.

Aziraphale giggled, “Enjoyed yourself, my dear?”

“Fuck,” was all he could say, running his hands through his hair. He shook himself and tried forming more than one word and settled on, “Angel… did you wear that to Anathema’s wedding?!”

“Heavens no!” the angel gave his arm a slap. “I do understand the concept of decency, dear boy and I had on a practical pair of white cotton undies the whole day, if you must know.”

Ignoring his cum plastered pants, Crowley raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I…” the angel ducked his head. “I miracled them on when we entered the shop,” he mumbled then fell back to the couch, grabbing the pillow to toss over his head. All traces of the seductress leaving him.

“And how, in Bill’s blooming bollocks, did you think up to miracle those kinds of panties?” He was an angel for Go – Somebody’s sake.

Aziraphale’s face emerged from behind the pillow wearing an adorably incredulous look. “Must I point out, my dear, that I live in Soho?” he quipped. “Besides, you’re not the only one with an imagination.”

With a snap, Crowley cleaned himself, although his half-hard cock was planning to undo so again.

“And what were you imagining when we got back, angel?” he leered, slinking between the blonde’s legs hovering above him. One hand anchoring itself on the sofa’s arm next to Aziraphale’s head, the other coming to rest on his thigh, thumb gently caressing the smooth skin.

The angel gulped, nerves focusing on the heat of Crowley’s palm and on the devilish thumb carving fire into his skin. “You pu-putting the garter on me, a-and perhaps accidentally getting a peek,” he blurted out. Too flustered to lie.

Crowley surged forward to give him a punishing kiss. “Fuck, angel, that mouth of yours is going to discorporate me,” he growled then kissed him again, a little gentler, fondness for his bastard of an angel bleeding through.

Aziraphale was getting lost in the demon’s kisses that he jumped when the hand on his leg moved, slowly trailing a path up the inside of his thigh. He shivered in anticipation. It made Crowley chuckle and in a low voice whispered in his ear, “Since you’ve gone through all the trouble, I think I should, ah, take a closer look at your knickers, yeah?”

The red-head nibbled his ear as his hand glided ever so slowly towards his crotch. The angel’s hips bucked to hurry him along. Oh, but it was his turn to tease. “Naughty little angel,” he sneered at the blonde and stilled his hand. “It’s your turn to wait.”

He crawled backwards and took in the angel’s flushed face, mussed hair and kiss-reddened lips. He found his tongue forking at the sight and slithering out of its own accord. He was suddenly hit with the alluring scent of the angel’s arousal. He blinked back instincts. Despite having come in his pants, he was determined to not pounce on the angel like a sex-crazed teenage human virgin. Another snap and he held a new lacy garter in his hand. It was almost identical in design as the one from the wedding, but this time it was red with black edges to match the angel’s underwear.

Crowley smirked. He could see the patch of light blonde hair on the angel’s crotch shimmer as his juices trickled out. He’d lick it later, but for the time being, he had a tradition to honor. He took the garter between his teeth and, keeping his eyes on the angel, slipped it past his foot and slowly dragged it up his leg. By the time he made it up his thigh, the angel was gasping for air he didn’t really need.

“Crowley,” he whined. The demon took the short distance between thigh and dripping pussy and gave it a hard lick through the sheer fabric.

“Yes, angel?” Crowley asked without lifting his head and started worrying the edges of the underwear with a finger.

“Please…” Said finger darted in to brush the tiny nub of nerves at the top of his velvet folds. The angel yelped.

“Please what?” he sniggered. The angel looked wrecked. His orgasm earlier in the night might have been horribly embarrassing, but it helped clear his mind somewhat to appreciate the effect he had on his best friend. His throbbing cock was also appreciating the display.

“Touch me,” he begged, far too gone to act the prim and proper angel.

That was the only invitation Crowley needed and he dove to properly taste his angel. He pulled the underwear to the side. He let his tongue circle his clit then run it up and down the slit. He moaned and hummed at his conquest, taking a break here and there to undemonically nuzzle Aziraphale’s belly and pepper his thighs with kisses. He giggled at his own antics but the poofs of white and yellow underskirts obstructed the angel’s view of the goofiest, love-struck grin he had ever sported in his life.

“You, ah!” the angel gasped out. “Y-you are being unfair, my dear – ah, yes, there! –Hmf. You owe me, hnnnng, an orgasm as good as yours.” Aziraphale had moaned at the first contact of tongue but the demon was deliberately avoiding the parts he was aching to be touched.

“I thought you liked things slow, Aziraphale,” came the voice from under his skirts. There was something more in the tone than the lighthearted teasing it was meant to sound like.

He flicked his wrist and the dress melted away, finally giving him access to reach over and cup the demon’s cheek. The red-head’s eyes were closed, brows and mouth in a grimace as he snuggled his thigh.

“Oh, my dear. Come here,” he sat up to let their lips meet. “Dearest,” the endearment had the demon opening his eyes. It was the first time he’d said it and hoped it wouldn’t be the last. “Slow meant safe. Because weren’t safe before. But we are free now,” he whispered, a smile starting to tug at the corners of his lips. “And right now, I wouldn’t mind you going fast,” he grinned. “In fact, I’d _love_ it if you’d go fast… and hard.”

“Y-Yeah,” the demon gulped, transfixed by the sweet smile the angel was directing at him. “I’d, uh, love to. Love it. Love you. I mean – “ He groaned, dropping his head on the angel’s shoulder. “Can you forget that last part?”

“Must I?” he heard the angel ask, fingers playing with his hair. “I had hoped you would say so. I love you, too, you know,” he sighed, the breath tickling his ear. He burrowed further into the angel’s neck, hiding the tear or two that escaped. He knew Aziraphale would still feel them on his skin, but the angel tactfully didn’t comment.

“In fact,” he continued, Crowley stilled, suddenly wary at the impish tone. “Hearing you say it was very… _nice_ ,” he squealed as he was forcefully pushed back into the sofa, the full weight of a snarling demon above him.

“Not. Nice,” he bit down on the blonde’s shoulder, not enough to prick the skin, but enough to leave a mark. The angel moaned as he lapped at the bruising skin. He felt warm all over, and it was coming from that spot on his chest. It was sickening and he never wanted it to end. He moved his mouth to suck at the angel’s pale throat.

“Yes, yes,” he heard the angel say breathily. “It’s a four-letter word, etcetera. But you know what else has four letters?”

Hissing, the demon banished his own clothing. If the angel wants to be fucked, who was he to say no? Taking himself in hand he rubbed the tip against the angel’s opening, still keeping the underwear on, the scraping of lace jump-starting his heart into overdrive. Despite their earlier conversation, he kept a snail’s pace as he pushed in. He swore, as he bottomed out. The heat enveloping him was perfect. Tight, hot and oh so _Aziraphale_.

“Crowley… please…” the angel moaned, repeating the only two words that mattered at the moment.

The sound broke him. It was a call to plunder and plunder he did. He gave a few experimental thrusts to make sure there was no discomfort, then increased his speed. He planted a foot on the floor and clung on to his angel’s hips, relishing as his fingers sank into the lush and rolling folds of flesh. He threw the angel’s legs over his shoulders for better access.

He grunted with every snap of his hips, the sound mingling with the slap of skin against skin and the wet slicks as he pounded into his angel’s sweet cunt. His eyes fell on his bouncing breasts, surprised at himself for not noticing them before – then again, the angel hadn’t had them twenty-four hours ago. They were encased in a bra matching his panties, pink nipples straining to burst through the cloth. Hell bent to take one in his mouth, he leaned down making the angel wail from the new angle.

Aziraphale was warbling incoherently as Crowley alternated between suckling his nipples and kissing (or more accurately plunging his tongue into) the angel’s eager mouth. He kept his pace steady.

Aziraphale was drowning in eddies of pleasure. Love and lust pushing against and into one another, pulling him into their spiraling dance – further and further in. He was nearing the whirlpool’s center, pressure mounting. He could barely call out Crowley’s name, but it didn’t stop him from screaming as, suddenly, he was pulled under.

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s legs still. The walls of his cunt clenching deliciously around his cock. He felt the angel’s spend coating them both. He heard the garbled rendition of his name as his angel came, propelling him over the edge as well. Stuttering thrusts shot his seed to fill his lover’s hole, overflowing it and mixing into the filthy mess of _them_ on the backroom sofa.

He lowered the angel’s legs, massaging his thighs lovingly then flopped down beside Aziraphale, both of them panting from the exertion. He stretched and winced as his oversensitive prick slipped out. He heard the angel whimper. He snuggled closer, pulling him into a tight embrace.

They spent a couple of minutes basking in post-coital bliss until the sweat and bodily fluids became uncomfortable. “What we need,” the blonde said, slowly lifting himself up and shushing the grumbling demon beside him. “Is a good bath then, to bed.”

“We?” Crowley asked, a stirring of hopefulness tainting his voice.

“Yes, we,” he smiled down at the red-head. “I believe my bed is as comfortable as yours.”

“You want me to stay?” Aziraphale nodded, and gave his lips a quick peck to punctuate his point.

“If you want to.”

“I do.”

They stood up together, laughing at their wobbling legs, unconcerned at their nudity. Although, Aziraphale was technically still wearing his underwear. But as he turned to lead Crowley to the flat upstairs, he was treated to pink arse cheeks jiggling every step of the way. The demon grinned lurking just behind him. He had had a drink, he ate his heart out, and now was being treated to dessert. He promised himself to savor another full-course meal should the angel permit him.

Thus, neither angel nor demon, felt the need to step out the bookshop doors for a fortnight – until the angel relented and they went to get crepes.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing smut is hard!
> 
> But practice makes perfect, am I right? (・ωｰ)～☆
> 
> I hope you like it!


End file.
